Faded and Frayed
by Sweet Little Bullet
Summary: "She wasn't really sure when exactly she had stopped believing, But the angel wings, those poor, splendid wings, so frayed and soiled and torn. They got her every time. Her own twisted sort of irony, she had lost her faith and yet she found it, in that faded set of wings." Set post "Coda" Though written before so a bit AU. Caryl. Dark Theme.


_**A/N: Written for USS Caryl's Heaven, Hell and Everything in Between Challenge using prompts given us. I used three of these prompts:  
>"There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways." Psalm 91 v 10-11, KJV<strong>_

**"Poor splendid wings so frayed and soiled and torn!" from Algernon Swinburne (A Ballad of Francois Villon)** **and**

** "Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens." - unknown **

_**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**_

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><p>She wasn't sure what she believed anymore. Not now that the world had fallen apart.<p>

Sure, she'd been raised like every other good Christian girl in Georgia, spending more time in church than on homework. She'd been born and bred to fear and revere the lord. Or, at least that's what her daddy always told her. Especially on those days she tried to fake a cough to get out of Sunday school.

She wasn't really sure when exactly she had stopped believing.

It wasn't when she had married Ed, all red faced and happy as they took their vows before her childhood preacher. It wasn't when she started missing services, choosing instead to pray at home, because the bruises were still too noticeable from Ed's last drunken rage. It wasn't when she had sat on the bathroom floor, blood pooling around her knees as she said goodbye to the life inside of her and prayed that God would forgive her husband for taking away her sweet baby.

It wasn't even when she left Ed, finally, having felt called to do so by a radio commercial she overheard on the way to take Sophia to school. Nor was it when she went running back to him not even a day later, when he swore to the same God that he was done drinking. That he wanted to be a better husband, a better father.

She prayed while she sat on the couch, holding her sweet baby girl close while Ed threw things together to get to the FEMA camps. She prayed when Ed's aggression seemed to escalate, despite the lack of liquor, when he grabbed Sophia's arm, too hard, after she dropped an MRE on the ground, and then backhanded her when she tried to stop him. And she prayed for his soul when she put the pick ax through his head later that week.

She didn't _stop_ praying when Sophia was gone. Lost and alone. She prayed for her safe return, for the search groups to find her before something else did. She prayed like the sun would never come up if she didn't, and essentially, that's what happened. She lost her only sunshine amidst gray skies and somewhere along the way she lost her faith.

She hoped, beyond hope, that somewhere her baby was happy, or at peace. But she didn't believe in the idea of a celestial palace in the sky anymore. To her, heaven was a place where nothing ever happens, where souls just, exist without want or fear. To her, that kind of heaven seemed damned near perfect compared to the reality they had been bestowed. But she was damn sure that even if that blissful eternity existed that she would never see it. Not after everything that she had seen. Everything she had _done_.

She woke often however, with sweaty palms and racing pulse, shaken to her very core as she dreamt of her sweet baby girl stuck forever as the creature that walked out of that barn. It was on those nights that she lay shaking as she wished with every fiber in her being that if _any_ version of heaven existed, if they hadn't been forsaken by some higher deity, that her girls were safe. _All_ of her girls.

Her Sophia, sweet and innocent and full of wonder. Mika, trusting and smart. And Lizzie. Oh how she hoped that Lizzie was at peace. A victim of circumstance that never deserved the life she had been handed. But then again, had any of them?

She had made peace with the fact that she wasn't sure she believed in anything anymore. Over time she had begun to focus on other things. Like the soft sighs that Judith made when she slept, or the way Carl would sing to his baby sister when he didn't think anyone was around to hear him. She focused on the way Rick watched the sunrise every morning and how eventually, Michonne joined him. She fixated on the way Tyreese would hug Sasha every morning when they got up and every night before they bedded down and the way Maggie and Glenn shared so much with their looks. The love they shared a bright spot in the dark, decaying world they lived in.

And she focused on the angel wings that Daryl wore on his back. So much about Daryl kept her there; His reassuring head nods, his lame jokes, and the way he smiled when she would laugh at his lame jokes. But the angel wings, those _poor_, splendid wings, so frayed and soiled and torn. They got her every time. Her own twisted sort of irony, she had lost her faith and yet she found it, in that faded set of wings.

She had decided she would follow those wings anywhere, so long as they were on his back. She would take the parts of her girls that she had left- a book and a hair tie- and roam this weary world forever so long as she was guided by those dingy old wings.

So it was no surprise that she found herself, Judith asleep on her good shoulder, following those wings up a rocky drive, boots crunching against gravel, breaths catching in throats at every little noise. And Daryl slowed, putting his arm out to stop her and her cargo.

"Need ta check it out." He growled and she felt herself nod as Judith stirred against her. "You stay here."

It wasn't a request so much of a demand but she rolled her eyes as she passed the still half sleeping toddler to the nearest arms and followed her faith up the sprawling steps. Tara was hot on her heels, Carl behind her as Rick and Daryl took the lead.

The home was exactly what you expect from a sprawling Georgia estate; full of Grandeur and richness but cold and uninviting. The chandelier was barely hanging on over the foyer, the grand staircase beckoning them forward as the jewels threw rainbows across its white carpeted steps. The marble beneath their feet was dusty, untouched in what Carol could only assume was years.

Their booted feet stirred up dust and Tara sneezed from behind her. Daryl and Rick turned simultaneously at the noise.

"They need to fire their housekeeper." The girl offered as she reached in her back pocket to pull out a ragged handkerchief and Carol smiled despite herself.

Her smile fell however as her eyes met Daryl's again. He was fixing her with a stare that would have sent anyone else running the opposite direction.

"You shouldn't be in here." He growled lowly, moving forward to ghost a hand along her elbow. She hid the wince at the action as her shirt rubbed against her still healing wounds.

"I'm fine." She said, smiling weakly. "Plus, Judith needed a change. I had to get out of there before anyone else realized it."

Carl let out a low laugh at that and Rick smiled from behind Daryl. She could tell he wanted to side with Daryl, but she knew as well as he did that with Judith on the line he would much rather have those of able body defending her.

"Besides," Tara started, ignoring the daggers Daryl was shooting her way, "The dust is settled, if there's anything in here it's downed."

Daryl ground his teeth together but finally nodded as he moved away from Carol as Rick laid out the ground plan.

"Tara, you and Carol go upstairs, the way these houses are laid out there will be less ground to cover up there…"

"I'm goin' too." Daryl nearly spat and he fixed Rick with a stare before Rick finally relented.

Carol fought the urge to roll her eyes as Daryl sidled past her on the steps to take point, his bow drawn and at the ready as she flanked the railing, one hand helping her tired legs with the movement and the other grasping her knife like a lifeline.

By the time they reached the top of the steps, beads of sweat were forming on Carol's forehead, her teeth clenched together. She was fine. She was going to be damn sure they knew it.

Tara smiled at her kindly, offering her a hand on the last step as Carol shook her off and Daryl fixed her with a knowing smirk.

"Let's go this way." Carol said, speaking pointedly to Tara. "Maybe they had a walk-in closet with some fabulous shoes."

"Yeah, or a stockpile of porn." Tara ribbed, reaching out to elbow Carol before catching herself and pulling back at the last minute. "Sorry."

"I'm fine, really." Carol sighed before stopping at the nearest door. "You take that room. I'll get this one."

The two worked together in silence, each tackling room after room and finding them void of walkers as they listened for Daryl to their east and the Grimes' down below.

Carol was on the last room, her hand on the doorknob when Tara came out of the room next to her, holding on to a pipe with a deerstalker balanced precariously on her head. "These people were in to some kinky… hey what's up."

Carol frowned, trying the gold knob again as she stared at the younger girl. "It's locked."

"Like I said…kinky"

Carol chuckled and bent down, sticking her knife in to the doorjamb and forcing it, ignoring the fire that burnt its way down her arm and in to her fingertips with the action. "I think I can get it…"

Tara stood quietly as Carol worked more on the door, thanking Daryl for his not so kosher past time activities before the world went to shit. Just as she thought she would have to give up, the door gave with a giant, splintering crack and she caught herself on the doorframe.

She pulled herself quickly to her feet and plunged in to the room, coming to a stop with her knife at the ready as the sound of the dead filled her ears and her vision blurred.

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><p>He was pissed. More than he had any right to be, he thought, but pissed nonetheless. She had just been laid up in the hospital not that long ago. They had had to cart her around like an invalid, a point which made her madder than a bobcat caught in a pissfire. So when he had asked her to "stay there." She oughta have just stayed the hell there.<p>

He should have known better. Carol wasn't much for taking directions. It was one of the things he liked most about her.

He didn't have much experience with women. His momma hadn't been too much of a role model in what to look for in future love interests. Of course, she hadn't been much of any kind of role model unless you wanted to learn how to drink wine out of a bottle without taking the cigarette outta your mouth or how to take the Lords name in vain.

Only one of those things would've been useful right now. And it sure as shit wasn't anything to do with no man in the sky.

He hadn't ever been one for religion. People in nice clothes who only acted holy one day of the week, and looked down at ya like the gum on the bottom their shoe. His old man wasn't either, and neither was Merle.

His mama had kept a bible in the nightstand. He used to see her pull it out after his old man had put his hands on her. Whatever she read in there kept her upright long enough to get some wine in to her. But he had never been one for reading books older than he was.

When she had died, they had put her in the ground and his dad and Merle had taken off. It hadn't felt right to him though. He had wanted to say so much more but the little scripture he had found had been enough.

It was the same one he had quietly read over Sophia's burial place after everyone else had gone, and the one he had whispered to himself when he had stood at the head of what he had _thought_ would be Carol's final resting place.

He was thinking about it on the way to the hospital. Reciting it over and over in his head, under his breath, the only prayer he would ever say. For her.

And then he had found her. Crumpled in the bed, broken beneath those scratchy sheets and he had recited it again as he picked her up and carried her out of that damned place, feeling it burn behind him but not caring enough to look back. He had what he came for. He wasn't letting go.

And now, here he was, pissed off at that same damn woman. He wanted to smack her. He wanted to kiss her. He had no clue what the hell he wanted to do.

He sighed and picked up the picture frame off the desk of the office he was currently in. The last damn room and it was an office, filled wall to wall with books. They'd make good kindling at least. Though he was sure Carol would have something to say about that. Damn women. They'd bitch if their ice cream was too cold.

He smirked at that and used his thumb to rub the dust off the silver embellished picture frame to reveal a happy family photo. A mom, a dad, and a little blonde hair, blue eyed, chubby cheeked baby.

He smiled to himself slightly as he went to the set frame back down just as he heard the scream.

He didn't even register the sound of glass breaking or the fact that he was running as he took off out of the office and down the hall just as Tara came out of a room, heaving in to a hat.

"Where is she?" He all but yelled, pushing Tara out of the way as he peered in the room she had just vacated, the smell of death hitting his nose just as the sound of the walker inside did.

Tara pointed down the hallway and he warred with himself before finally stepping inside the room they had vacated, weapon at the ready.

He walked slowly in the room, fighting off the wave of nausea at the smell of rot that filtered through his nose. The room was an explosion of pink. Teddy bears in the corner sat neatly placed in a basket beside a dirty rocking chair. He turned, his brow furrowed as he tried to find the source of the hungry growling, just as his eyes met the crib.

His heart sank as his eyes saw the little feet, halfway hidden behind a rosy pink crib bumper, bloody socks worn thin from kicking the end of the crib without feeling. The white crib smattered with dust and bugs and blood. He didn't want to move forward. He didn't want to see. Yet his feet had other plans. He inched closer, his shoulders sagging as he took sight of the infant walker, decimated and decayed and so hungry for him. He raised his weapon and looked up, getting ready to recite his scripture when he caught sight of the letters on the wall.

Wooden letters that were lovingly painted in patterns of pink, purple, and yellow, spelling out the two names he knew would be the most devastating.

_Sophia Elizabeth_

He sighed and lowered his weapon, entering the hallway as the Grimes appeared at the top of the staircase.

"Take care'a that." He pointed, looking pointedly at Tara who was leaning against the wall, the hat clutched tightly in her pale hands.

He took off, his feet moving as he eyed in each room until he found her, situated in a window seat, her fists pushing in to her eyes.

He didn't say anything as he sank down next to her and pulled her in to him. He expected her to fight. To shove him away and say she was "fine" but she didn't and he could feel her labored breathing against him as he rested his chin against her soft hair.

They sat there together, listening to each other breathe as the sun began to set. They could hear the others in other parts of the house, setting up shop or bedding down for the night. Yet they stayed, Carol leaning against him as he took in the feel of her arms around his waist.

Finally, she relaxed and she pulled herself away from him slightly as he looked her up and down.

"ya fine?" He asked, his lips tugging up at the corners and she shook her head.

"No. But I will be."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door and they both looked up to see Tara, looking grim and still pale, standing in the doorway. "They're…they're burying the baby. Underneath the big tree out back… I thought…"

Carol smiled and pulled away from Daryl completely and he immediately felt cold. "Thank you Tara. We'll be right there."

Tara nodded and disappeared as Carol made to stand up. Daryl reached out, sliding his hand in to hers as he pulled her back to him.

He cleared his throat, "I uh… I know I ain't what you had planned. I'm no saint and I can be a mean sonofabitch sometimes but, I can't… I can't lose you. Not anymore. Not again."

Carol smiled and squeezed his hand, bringing her other up to rest against his face. "I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned in to her touch, before turning to place a kiss on her palm.

Wordlessly he helped her up and through the hall, down the stairs and out to the backyard where the tiny grave was waiting.

They stood quietly until everyone had placed a stone on top of the grave and left, the last of the sun's light leaving as the two stood over the miniscule mound, fingers twined as Daryl opened his mouth and recited the words he had memorized by heart. The words that were his, that would now be _theirs. _"There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways."


End file.
